


The Boy on Fire

by scorpuffle



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Fandom, The Cursed Child - Fandom, The Hunger Games
Genre: Albus is oblivious to his feelings so nothing new, Delphi may or may not have been incorporated, Effie can’t stand anything anymore she’s just done, Haymitch is a moody legend and I’m here for it, I apologize an advance for the inconvenience of Harry, I’ll stop now, James is secretly just sad the whole time, M/M, Scorpius is trying the whole time and also the mayors son instead of a baker because it makes sense, They don’t have magic in this AU don’t worry, enjoy loves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpuffle/pseuds/scorpuffle
Summary: Albus Potter, a resident of District Twelve in Panem, finds himself in a dangerous situation, aimlessly doing something he shouldn’t have after his sister, Lily, gets chosen for the annual Hunger Games.Will Albus’s ignorance cause his death, or will Scorpius Malfoy, the other tribute from District Twelve, present an idea that may just save both of their lives?
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, scorbus - Relationship
Kudos: 24





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I just wanted to say that I absolutely adore anyone who may come across this fan-fiction and like it! It’s only for fun, but I do plan on writing the other two parts of this does well. I have read the books, but some scenes are drawn from he movies for convenience to Albus and Scorpius’s characters. Enjoy!

My sister looks at me with a terrified expression as I sit at the end of her small bed, attempting to calm her down. Her face is damp and the room is awfully quiet besides her quiet sobbing.  
I bite my lip and say, “It’s just a dream. Only a dream.”  
“It was me, Albus,” she explains, tears quietly running down her face. “It was me. I—I got chosen.”  
“No, it’s fine,” I attempt, hoping that my comforting suited Lily just as well as James’s does. I would have asked him to deal with Lily’s fear, but tomorrow is The Reaping and I don’t want to wake him. “Lily, it’s your first year and you’ve only had your name in once. They aren’t going to pick you.”  
Even though she doesn’t reply, hot tears still parade down her face, making her freckles shine and her blue eyes glassy.  
Suddenly, I remember the Mockingjay pin that was still in my pocket. The pin that the mayor’s son, Scorpius, gave to me earlier today. I pull it out and place it into her hand. “Here. It’s a Mockingjay pin.” I think for a moment. “I got it for you. Whenever you have it, nothing bad will happen to you. Okay?”  
Lily wipes tears from her eyes and observes it. She nods. “Yes. Okay.”  
“Okay. Great. Now lay down, go to sleep, we have a big day tomorrow,” I lean down to kiss her forehead and then stand up, satisfied with my work. James would have rated it a solid six out of ten.

I focus on the brown head of the deer—it sits there, eating the moss off of a tree, standing still, tranquil. I slide an arrow into position, and just as I was about to shoot, I hear a stumble behind me and—  
“Where are you gonna put that?” with the startle of James’s voice, I shoot the arrow just past the deer’s ear, and it goes loping away, now aware that I am here.  
“Damn you, James!” I grit my teeth and spin around to see my brother standing there. “That was the first deer I’ve seen in years!”  
“My question still stands, Al,” he comes and stands next to me. “What were you planning on doing with it? Something that big?”  
“I don’t know, sell it to Peacekeepers, Jamie,” I snap back, sighing and looking in the direction. “Keep the rest of it for us. I thought you were working the mines?”  
James shows me his hands, and then rolls up his sleeves. Scorch marks and black soot covered them elbow to fingertips. “Was. They let us off early. Remember what today is?”  
“How could I forget,” I grumble, looking at the ground. “How many times is your name in there, again?”  
“Forty-two,” he grimaces. “Guess the odds aren’t ever in my favor. Anyways, I came to get you, Mum says she wants both of us to clean up and she set out some nice clothes for us to wear.”  
“Okay. But I won’t ever forgive you for stealing my chance to provide our family with a large, delicious, meal,” I adjust the quiver on my back and follow him out of the forest, hopping up stones and dodging trees.

“I wish I looked like you,” I complain, staring at myself in the old, dusty mirror then back at James. His rusted dark red hair was done nicely and he had clean trousers on with a white button-up tucked in at the bottom.  
“Oh shut up,” James says, looking at me. “Don’t say that. You're just as attractive as I am. You know how many girls at school I’ve heard talking about you?”  
I blush while putting on my grey tie that used to be Dads. I never had the heart to tell James I don’t exactly like girls, but where is the room to tell him when all you really need to do is hunt to provide for your family? “Sure.”  
“James is right!” Lily pipes in, walking into the room, showing that she was most definitely eavesdropping. “And if Dad were here, he’d agree.”  
There’s a moment of silence. Our father, Harry Potter, died in a mining incident only a few years ago. He was well-known in the community for helping out others, and everyone was dismantled when the explosion happened. Not only did he die, but others fathers and brothers did too. District Twelve was in pieces, figuratively, for almost a whole year afterwards.  
“Lulu, you look great!” James praises, breaking the solemn tension. “Did you get Mum to plait your hair or did you do it yourself?”  
“Mum did the first half, but I finished it off, thanks,” Lily grins wildly and flings the end of the plait over her shoulder.  
I nod in agreement with James’s previous statement. “It does look great, Lily. I like your dress, too, I think blue is your color.”  
“Yeah, me too! It’s slightly tight...Mum said it used to be her mums...oh! Albus, look!” she runs up to me and presents the mockingjay pin that now, is eloquently pinned to the front of her dress. “The pin you gave me!”  
“It looks great!” I smile at her, then sit down on the wooden chair, pulling my shoes on.  
James looks at me. “Where’d you get that, Al?”  
“Oh, Scorpius Malfoy,” I answer, already knowing what’s coming next.  
“You mean the mayor's kid?” asks James, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t he a bit...you know.”  
“No!” I find myself defending him in a bit harsher of a way than I think. “He’s actually really nice. I mean, we aren’t friends, but we...chat sometimes.”  
“Hm,” James looks at me like I’m lying. “Why’d he give it to you?”  
“I ran into him at the marketplace,” I explain, finishing lacing up my boot. “He said hello and then told me he was there to sell some things for his dad...I saw the pin and thought Lily would like it, so I offered to buy it from him but he said that I could have it for free.”  
James looks at me, looking pleasantly surprised. “Oh. That’s nice of him.”  
“Yeah,” I stand up. “Where’s Mum?”  
“Right here!” I hear the voice of my mother from behind me. I turn around and see her coming out from the kitchen (or what little of one we have), and she puts her hand on my shoulder. “Al! You look really nice! And James, oh, James, you look so handsome. Lily! I knew you could finish the plait on your own.”  
I smile at her as she walks in the middle of the room. Her ginger hair is slightly wavy, and she’s wearing a plain dark grey dress. “We better head off. We definitely don’t want to be late.”

As we approach the Hall of Justice, Lily is getting more and more nervous.  
“It’s only a prick, it only hurts a little bit, they are only going to draw a small amount of blood,” I reassure as we draw closer and closer to the entrance.  
“Okay, okay,” she sighs, gulping as we watch James get his finger pricked. He doesn’t flinch, and soon I hear the Peacekeeper say, “Next!”  
Lily walks up to the table, biting her lip. I know she can do it, she is tough—and I was right. She only flinches a tiny bit then walks on. I watch her red hair disappear into the crowd, and I’m called forward.  
“Hand, please,” the Peacekeeper says blandly. I offer her my left hand and she pricks it, a small pinching feeling escalating in my body. She presses my finger to the paper and scans the blood print. My name pops up onto the small scanner: Albus Severus Potter.  
“You may go,” she shuffles me off and I quickly run to get into place. I want to get this done with as quickly as possible. I find the boys section, and stand next to my brother.  
“May the odds be ever in our favor, right, Al?” whispers James, and he stares at the big screen presented in the back left. As the last few residents trickled into the Hall of Justice, the screen flickered on, playing the annual film explaining just exactly why we have The Hunger Games.  
“Bunch of shit.” I hear James mutter incoherently.  
The film ends, and all heads turn to the large doors opening that lead into the actual Justice building. A lady in a hot pink outfit and large, quite distracting hair steps out—Effie Trinket, the announcer for District Twelve.  
She steps up to the line microphone and taps it—it radiates a menacing squeal across the crowd. I wince and cover my ears for a split second until the screeching stops. She coughs.  
“Welcome! Welcome, welcome. Happy Hunger Games, and May the Odds be ever in your favor!” she gives a big smile, but we all stay silent. Her smile falters. “As usual, ladies first.”  
Her heels click loudly on the pavement as everyone holds their breath. Staring at the glass bowl holding hundreds of small envelopes, she reaches her hand in and—in one swift motion—plucks the card that will read the name of the new female tribute of District Twelve.  
She walks back to the microphone and, elegantly, unfolds it. She clears her throat as she reads the name written on the card.  
“Lily Potter.”


	2. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus blurts out the words that change his life. The mayor’s son is presented with a situation he isn’t exactly prepared for. Haymitch Abernathy is mentally done with being a mentor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I uploaded Chapter Two way earlier than planned. After this, however, I will be posting a new chapter every Friday! Thanks for the kudos!

My heart drops six kilometers as I process the name that just came out of Effie Trinket's mouth. As if Death themself has just walked into the district, a wave of dread washes over me. I glance at James, and he grips my hand tightly in response and squeezes it. 

“Don’t be shy, come on now. Lily Potter?” Effie ushers, looking for my sister.

I immediately spot her—I find the top of her flaming orange hair and follow it as she steps out into the pathway. People stare at her as her hands shake continuously. She makes her way towards the stage, taking small steps, and with every move she makes my brain and heart get heavier and heavier, angrier and sadder, until I can’t take it anymore.

I step out into the path, and Peacekeepers immediately take notice, pacing towards me.

“Lily!” I scream, causing her to turn around hastily. We made eye contact and I feel the Peacekeepers grip me, pulling me back. I see James’s wide eyes, Mum’s concerned expression—then I look into Lily’s piercing blue eyes and see only fear.

Everything I’ve ever known—correct morals, and mostly sanity, slip out of me. Just as the Peacekeepers tighten their grip on me and attempt to move me back I scream at the top of my lungs, “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

The Peacekeepers immediately loosen their hold on me and let go, stepping away. Lily looks at me, gaping, tears streaming down her face. 

“Albus, no!” chorus Mum and James, but all I hear is a ringing in my ear. I don’t process what I have done, until I realize the utter horror of what just happened.

Lily isn’t the tribute. I am. There is no going back-I’m held against my word. I will compete in the Hunger Games.

“ALBUS!” screams Lily as she runs up to me. Before I could get to her, hug her, anything—The Peacekeepers drag her away. “ALBUS, NO! PLEASE!”

I look at her with blurry eyes and make my way shakily to the stage. 

“Look at this!” Effie seems mildly surprised, and   
she has a hand to her heart. “District Twelve’s first ever volunteer! Come up here, darling.”

I walk up the steps and stand next to Effie, and I look out to the horrified faces of the crowd. They either seem impressed, amazed, or terrified. I make eye contact with Mum, who at this point is holding a sobbing Lily in her arms.

“What’s your name?” Effie asks me, and I snap out of my daze. 

“Al-Albus Potter,” I stutter, still in shock of my own actions. 

Effie gave a small applause. “Well, my oh my! Your tribute, Albus Potter, everyone!” 

Instead of applause, I see a man press three fingers to his lips and lift his hand into the air—the symbol of district twelve. Soon after, the whole district copy—every person, man, woman, and child. 

I want to smile, but with the situation present, it’s physically impossible. Instead, I stand there, trying to calm myself.

Effie, clearly baffled, laughs nervously into the microphone and I stand off to the side, about three feet beside her. She lets a grand smile slip off her lips and then says, “Now the gentlemen. Or, well, I suppose the other gentleman.”

She glances at me, then makes her way towards the other bowl. I see James still staring at me—his hands were crossed over his chest in a protective sort of way. I make eye contact with him but he immediately breaks it.

I sense Effie got back, and look at her, awaiting for the announcement of the tribute I’ll be working with.

She folds open the paper, and everybody seems to be on their heels. 

“Scorpius Malfoy.”

The whole district lets out an unmistakable collective gasp. I shoot my eyes towards Mayor Malfoy, whose lips are now in a thin line and his eyes were wide as he looked at his son. Scorpius’s expression matched his fathers—except with more fear and surprise. He doesn’t have to walk far, as he was seated in the front row with the other more respected people in the community, and steps on to the stage. 

I don’t show it, but I feel extremely sickened of the idea that Scorpius Malfoy got chosen for The Hunger Games. A thought settles at the back of my mind, and I knew it was on the back of everybody else’s also. 

There was absolutely no way Scorpius was going to survive—he was probably the least equipped male in District Twelve. It definitely had to do with being the Mayor’s son—he’s never had to hunt or gather or in any way provide for himself and his family like most do here. Of course, not nearly as rich as residents of the Capitol, in fact he’s really poor compared to them, yes, but his family has always bought things. They haven’t worked for them. 

“Yes, here,” Effie motions for him to stand next to her, then looks at the crowd. “Your two tributes for District Twelve! Go on, shake hands.” 

Scorpius and I lock eyes—his are a clear grey color that is slightly mesmerizing. We shake hands—his hands are warm and friendly. I can’t help but smile slightly and he returns it willingly, but as soon as our hands slip from one another’s both our faces turn back to stone cold fear.

Effie steps forward to the microphone once again, and concludes, “Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, everyone!”

I sit in the lonesome room in the Hall of Justice, rubbing my temples with the palms of my hands. I fiddle with the fabric of my trousers until I hear the door creak open, and hear the words, “You have three minutes.”

“What the hell were you thinking Albus Severus Potter?!” James storms in first, tackling me with what can only be the biggest brother-bear hug I’ve had in my life. 

“I don’t think I was thinking. I only knew I didn’t want Lily to be in those games,” I manage against the pressure of the bone-crushing embrace. 

James and I disconnect, and his eyes are brimming with tears. Before one can slide down his cheek, he wipes it away hastily.

Then I look at Lily. Her eyes are glossy and wet—her cheeks are stained with tear lines. She’s quick to take off the pin I gave her, and she shakily walks over to me.

“Why did you do that, Al?” she sniffs. 

“Because I—because you're my sister, Lily,” I reply, looking at the golden Mockingjay resting in her hands. She forcibly tugs on my arm, opens my clenched hand, and places the pin into my palm.

“For good luck,” she chokes, then wraps her arms tightly around my neck. Into my ear, she says, “Win, Albus. Win for me. I know you can, you're smart.”

“I’ll try to. I can hunt.”

“Yeah, you can. You can win Albus, I believe it,” Lily lets go of me then steps back, leaving Mum left to say goodbye to.

I stand up fully, and walk over to her. I put my hands on her shoulders and I feel the sting of tears surging at my eyes. I blink to keep them away. “I love you, Mum. You're great, okay? Never forget that. And when I die—if I die—don’t abandon them. Don’t do what you did with Dad and shut out the world.”

My mum cups her mouth with her hand and nods. She throws her arms around me, kissing my head and ruffling my already messy hair. I feel the drops of her unavoidable tears drop onto my shoulder. 

The door opens, and a Peacekeeper walks in. “Times up.”

Mum unfolds her arms, kisses my forehead once more, and walks outside the door. James follows shortly after, and Lily also. But before she goes, she turns around abruptly and pipes, “Thank Scorpius for the pin before he dies!”

The Peacekeeper wrapped his hand around her arms and pushed her ever so slightly out of the room, slamming the door shut.

“Do you know this train is moving two-hundred miles per hour, yet we can’t feel a thing?” informs Effie, elegantly cutting into the small rib of steak in front of her. “Anyways, your mentor should be here any time now. He’s er—probably in the bar carriage.”

As if on cue, Haymitch Abernathy—District Twelve’s only victor—stumbles into the cart where Effie, Scorpius and I are seated. 

“Ahh, if it isn’t for our new victors,” Haymitch says hazily, plopping down on the chair next to Scorpius. He takes a swig of what I assume to be alcohol, and looks at Scorpius.

“So, Mayor's son, huh?” he asks. “Definitely. You're the only blonde in all of District Twelve.”

“Er—right, that’s me,” Scorpius says. “Anyways, so, uh—The Games. You are our mentor, you're supposed to help us?”

“Help you? Oh yeah, want advice?” he asks.

“Well, yes, generally,” replied Scorpius, resting his forearms on the table and staring at the key lime pie in front of him. His hands were lanky and long, and on one finger was a bronze ring with a figure of a dolphin embroidered onto it.

“Great. First piece of advice—don’t die,” Haymitch downs his glass of wine in an instant. “Effie, will you get me a refill please?”

Effie scoffs at him. “I’m not your avox, Haymitch! You are perfectly capable of getting our own drinks.”

“Advice?” I interrupt Haymitch before he can row with Effie. “Advice? I’m sorry, but both of us might just die, and your advice is ‘don’t die?’”

“You got anything better, sweetheart?” grumbled Haymitch, then widens his eyes at me. “You’re a boy. Why the hell is he a boy?”

I sit back into my chair and scowl. “Maybe because I was born like that, you bloody idiot.”

“Great, and he’s got an attitude,” Haymitch slams his glass onto the table. “Effie! Answer my question!”

Effie sighs, straightening her position and looking at Haymitch. “He volunteered for his sister, in fact. And we can’t change the volunteering rules just because he’s a boy. Yes, it is the first time it has happened, but President Snow hasn’t offered complaints yet.”

“Aww, you volunteered for your sister,” our mentor mimics Effie’s tone and then looks at Scorpius. “Does he have any other talents other than compassion? Because you’ll need a hell of a lot more than family love to win the games.”

Haymitch leaves to get up, but I pick up my steak knife and slam it in between his fingers to prove a point that I do, in fact, have other talents.

He whistles, picks up the knife, flipping it in the air, and catching it again by the handle. “Might wanna keep this knife.”

Effie, on the other hand, gasps loudly at the sight of the newly formed dent on the dinner table. “That is mahogany!” 

“Why do you hate me so much?” I stand up, blocking Haymitch's path. “I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong to you.”

“I’m drunk, you're sober, might make a difference,” grumbles Haymitch, shoving me out of his way. On his way out of the compartment, he grabs a bottle of white wine and slams the door behind him. 

“I was going to say you could shoot good, you know. With a bow and arrow,” mentions Scorpius after I sit back down. I look at him. He is twirling his ring around his index finger, waiting for my reply.

“And how do you know that?” I ask, genuinely curious. We don’t talk much unless it was for a school assessment or for small talk, so I wasn’t exactly sure how he knew.

“You sell to my Dad,” he explains, his skin flushing slightly. “He says that you shoot birds right in the eye, through their head, every time.” 

I can’t help but smile at his anecdote. “Good to know. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know what you can do.”

Scorpius laughs at this. “Yeah...I’m not as strong or as good as you are, I’m sure. I can paint, though, really well, so I could be good at camouflage I think. And I read a lot, so I’ve read about lots of survival strategies...I’ve never actually tried them, though.”

“Oh,” I search my mind for a compliment. “Well, that could be useful.”

“Yeah,” Scorpius folds his hands together and purses his lips. “While saying goodbye to my dad, he said that he thinks District Twelve will finally have a victor. But I don’t think he was talking about me.”

“I—oh. Well, I guess I’m flattered then,” I nod my head and look at the ground. Eager to change the subject, I note the Mockingjay pin buried in my pocket and Lily’s request.

I dig it out of my trousers and lift it up so Scorpius can see. “My sister wants to thank you for this. I gave this to her originally, but...you know. She wanted to give it back after what happened.” 

He tilts his head ever so slightly and smiles warmly—a smile that seems to radiate the whole room. “You can tell her that I couldn’t be more welcome. Well...if you can.”

Effie, who was clearly eavesdropping but did not want to semi like it, squeals eagerly suddenly and points her finger at the window. “Oh, my dears! We’re here!”

Scorpius immediately turns around, and gasps. “Wow. It’s...beautiful.”

As he says this, Haymitch walks in, with another glass of wine. He follows her gaze, then sits on a cushion, eyeing the city like it was a compost dump.

I crane my neck to see the view—a large, palace-like city with dozens of shimmering lights and buildings that scraped the sky could be seen through the window. My eyes almost sparkle in delight, but then I remember why I’m here and they quickly flicker out. 

“Isn’t that a sight,” Scorpius sighs, resting his chin on his hand, his elbow sitting on the windowsill. The train zoomed into a tunnel, and just like that—crowds of people jumping up and down, dressed in boisterous, crazy outfits were waving and hollering at us through the glass.

Scorpius starts to wave to the people as the train slows, and he gives them a beaming grin that makes the residents cheer louder.

Haymitch makes eye contact with me from across the compartment. “Take notes. He knows what he’s doing.”


	3. Flames Igniting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus’s prep team prepares him for a grand entrance at the Capitol. Effie is more than astonished, but Albus doesn’t feel the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I’m so inconsistent of when I post chapters, but I guess quarantine is getting the best of me. Hope you enjoy this chapter, thanks for the lovely kudos!

“Take your clothes off.”

“Sorry?” I do a double-take, staring at one of the women who was apparently on my prep team. Her skin was tinted green, and she pronounced herself as Octavia.

“Everyone is uncomfortable the first time round, but you’ll have to get used to it, I'm afraid,” the man with bright orange curls, Flavius, smiles in apology to me. He sets towels down on a towel rack next to a shiny bathtub.

The third member of my prep team turns around from a faucet. “We only want to make you look pretty for the opening ceremony. And we promise we won’t hurt you.”

“Exactly,” Flavius turned to me. “We only want to help. Then Cinna will see you.”

“Cinna?” I question, deciding to start to unbutton my shirt. 

“Oh, darling, you’ll love Cinna!” Octavia exclaimed enthusiastically. “He’s the best fashion designer in Panem.” 

She turns on the bathtub, sprinkling a golden liquid into it that erupts into mesmerizing bubbles. I watch the tub fill as I finish pulling off the rest of my clothes, and Octavia nods in confirmation that I can step in. 

I enter the bathtub, and immediately my pores thank me. I grin, all thought of my probable death gone. I sink into the bubbles and let out a satisfied sigh. “This feels nice.”

“Doesn’t it?” Flavius grinned, getting a stool and setting it directly behind my head. I see him grab a violet bottle and pour soap into his palm. I feel his hands massage shampoo into my head and I relax fully.

“I don’t think I’ve had a wash this good since I was a baby,” I observe, allowing Octavia to take my hand. She takes ointment and spreads them around on my hand, then starts to scrape away underneath my fingernails with a small metal tool.

“I’m sure you haven’t, love,” replies Venia, who is carrying a black box of supplies. “Stick your left leg out, a bit? This will only sting for a second.”

I raise an eyebrow at the word sting but I nod and follow through with her plan. She sticks a strand of something quite sticky on my leg, and, in an instant, she yanks it off with force. I yelp as I notice my hair that had previously been on my leg was replaced with pure skin.

Venia smiles at me and her aqua hair glimmers in the lights of the room. “Sorry. I told you.”

I shrug as she continues, and slowly I get used to the pressure on different points of my body. I drape my right arm off the side of the tub and allow myself to thrive in my seven minutes in heaven.

“It looks great, thank you, Flavius. All of you” I examine my hair in the mirror, my dark brown messy hair now trimmed and in-line. My eyebrows are neat and tidy thanks to Venia (along with my legs), and my hands are cleaner than they’ve ever been before. My skin feels soft and it almost looks like I’m glowing. 

“Did Scorpius get all of this, too?” I ask, making sure the soft towel was secured around my waist still. “Or are you fixing him up next?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s done or nearly there already,” replied Octavia. “He’s with Portia and her team.”  
Venia comes from the other room before I can reply and ushers me forward. “Cinna’s ready for you.”

“Alright, thank you guys!” I conclude, and I pass through the door where a dark-skinned man with black clothes stands, organizing a clothing line.

“Are you Cinna?” I ask, and the man turns around. He gives a broad smile that immediately makes me want to embrace him in a fatherly hug. 

“Look at you!” his eyes were flashing with a sort of pride and warmth. “You are even better looking than they were saying! Here, I have new undergarments for you, then I’ll present to you my design idea and you tell me if you like it.”

He winks at me generously, flashing a line of shimmering gold eyeliner, and hands me a pair of underwear. He sorts through the clothes on the rack as I get them on, dropping the towel to the floor. I immediately go to cover my torso but I decide that it wouldn’t do any good. 

He turns to me, motioning me towards the . “Alright, Albus. So, I was thinking. The districts all wear outfits that resemble their specialty.”

“Yeah, and we’re always coal miners,” I note.  
He shakes his head. “But not this time. I wanted to go bolder, bigger—so Portia and I came up with an idea. An outstanding idea actually. What goes along with coal?”

He unzips a garment bag hanging on the clothes rack and presents a pitch black, slick, suit. I don’t want to be rude, so I politely ask, “Er, Fire?”

“That’s the outstanding part,” grins Cinna. “They are designed to catch fire—and before you ask, no, I made sure you will not burn to death. It’s completely safe, and if you work with me, The Capitol will be amazed and you may gain sponsors before you even should be gaining them.”

“That’s...amazing, Cinna,” I gasp, staring at the suit. I can make out shimmering fabric within the suit and tie. “When do I get to try it out?”

“You look nice,” comments Scorpius, his grey eyes scanning me up and down then meeting my green ones. His blonde hair is even more blonde, if that is possible, and it is fluffy and light. His cheeks are bronzed with pink blush to contrast his pale skin and his fiery orange eyeliner matches my own. 

“You do too,” I return, stepping up onto the chariot, my heart pounding endlessly. I notice Scorpius’s suit is altered slightly differently from mine—the ends have golden embroidered swirls across the bottom and the collar pops slightly differently. I decide to not mention it.

I see Cinna and Portia rush up to us, just as my ears realize the roar of the crowds outside aren’t fake. 

“Remember, don’t be scared. We’ve made them especially for this cause,” Cinna reassures, gripping my hand and squeezing it, then firmly letting go.  
Portia nods in agreement, hurriedly adjusting Scorpius’s tie. “We won’t activate them until you are about halfway down the aisle. It will add to the shock factor.”

The voices of The Capitol grow stronger as the two horses pulling the chariot stomp their feet in anticipation. Suddenly, the anthem of The Capitol is blared through all of our ears. 

Effie Trinket comes trotting up to Scorpius and I, on my side of the Chariot. She sighs in excitement and squeals euphorically. “You two got this! Remember to smile! Show them that you are District Twelve! Make them want to be from your district! Oh, you two look stunning. Smile!”

Both Scorpius and I nod, but the butterflies still fly aimlessly around in my stomach. I have never had this much attention before—and now, all of Panem has their eyes on me. 

The musical anthem ends, and the excited voice of Caesar Flickerman echoes through the other side of the door. “Wow, isn’t this a full crowd tonight? We all are gathered here tonight to celebrate the tributes of all our beloved districts—so, further adieu, let me introduce to you; the tributes of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games!”

Music cued in again, the large, iron door fly open, and before I know it I propel forward slightly as the friesian horses start to trot, following the leaders in front of them. Lights nearly blind me as the crowd roars loudly, applause piercing my ears as we escalate into the open. 

I forget to smile, as I observe everything around me. Scorpius was grinning, his perfectly white teeth shining at the crowd, his left hand waving to the audience. 

“District One looking absolutely stunning, look at that gold—and Two, oh, look at Two!” Claudius Tenplesmith’s smooth voice echoes out of the loudspeakers. “Three—oh, classic, trees! Four looking ravishing, and—“

Scorpius nudges me, his grin still in place. I realize I am not smiling and utter a small grin, waving briefly to a little girl in the crowd who nearly fainted when I noticed her. I feel Scorpius hand looking for mine and I look at him, trying to hide my puzzlement.

“Come on, they’ll love it,” he urges, and reluctantly, I take his hand. It’s soft and lovely and warm, and he hoists our conjoined hands into the air as a blinding light behind us flickers—I realize that a trail of flames is crackling behind us. And then—with amazement—I realize the flames are protruding from us.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen, look at that!” Flickerman announces in pure bliss, “Our male pair—raising their hands triumphantly in the air saying, I’m proud to be from District Twelve!”

“Isn’t that something,” agrees Claudius. “Their stylists sure know what they are doing, don’t they?”  
I manage a large enough smile to fool a crowd, to make them believe I have hope to win, become the next victor—although I most definitely do not.

We approach the end of the pathway and our flames slowly flicker out. On the edge of my vision, I see the jealous eyes of a tribute from District One, adorned in gold greek-like clothing. He looks away as quickly as he looked at me. 

As we come to a full stop, Scorpius lowers our hands and untangles his fingers from mine. He looks at me, smiling, and whispers, “Good job.”  
I nod and return the smile, then I look towards the podium towering over us. 

“And now—Claudius and I hand over our voices to the almighty, handsome, President Snow!” Caesar announces, and the people of The Capitol cheer louder than ever before.

President Snow walks with power up to the speaking stand holding a small, black microphone. His ash white hair is combed nicely and done perfectly. The wrinkles in his skin almost tell a story. Yet when I see him, my stomach clenches, and all I feel is imminent anger. I clench my fists and recoil my boiling madness.

“Welcome everyone,” President Snow’s menacing voice rings through the now silent stadium. “These next few weeks, we celebrate victory and punish loss. I welcome the honored tributes to this Seventy-Fourth edition of Panem’s very own Hunger Games.”

The residents of The Capitol scream cries of encouragement and excitement. 

“Yes, yes! We are all engulfed with such joyful emotions tonight,” Snow chuckles, “and given your reactions, you are excited to know much more about our wonderful tributes! So, I announce—welcome all, and congratulations!”

Two large doors open on either side of the marble podium, and the chariot lurches back into rhythm, leading both Scorpius and I back into a large, concrete room.

“I am still not over how well you two did tonight!” Effie says, for just about the sixth time tonight at dinner. “The smiles! The holding hands! Oh, the holding hands was a brilliant idea! I believe you already have sponsors on your side.”

“Thank you, it was my idea,” beams Scorpius, taking a bite out of garlic bread. 

“I told you he knows what he’s doing,” Haymitch says in between bites of his ratatouille. 

“But why?” I ask, taking a sip of sparkling apple cider. “Why do we need to please The Capitol so much? Why can’t we just—be ourselves?”

“Oh, boy,” Haymitch starts to chuckle, “You are acting like you don’t know what this game is about. Look, kid, you wanna win, right? Then you gotta get people on your side. You gotta get people to like you, to root for you—because even when you feel like you can’t get out of it—someone may just send you a little...oh, I don’t know. A gift. So you better act all nice and cutsie-tootsie out there, especially with the interviews tomorrow, or you may as well be dead in the first five minutes.”

I open my mouth to argue, but I quickly shut it. Haymitch may hate me for no reason, but I can’t argue with a former victor who, unfortunately, knows what he’s doing. 

So, instead of causing problems, I say, “Right.”

“Finally, something sane out of your mouth,” he bites a chunk out of a raisin cookie and takes a shot of vodka. “Want some? Helps with the stress.”

“Haymitch!” Effie whacks his arm lightly, shaking her head in disappointment. “You can not offer underage tributes alcohol!” 

“Well, at least one of them is gonna die before they reach twenty-one so they may as well risk being drunk one time,” mutters Haymitch, but he doesn’t try to pour us some, which I am mostly glad for. 

“I’m tired, I think I’m going to go to bed,” Scorpius gets up, looking slightly sick, his eyebrows furrowed like he thought of something disturbing. 

“Alright, sweetheart!” Effie says, “Get good rest! You have a big day tomorrow!”

Scorpius nods, smiles weakly, and sets off into the hallway leading to his room.

“On that note, I think I need rest too. You know, from all that waving and attention,” I state, and get up, and Effie looks concerned. Haymitch on the other hand, looks entirely smug and relieved that I am leaving the table. 

“Alright, darling, sleep well! Remember to be thinking about what oh are going to say tomorrow! Panem will be watching!” Effie calls out to me as I walk towards my room. 

I decide many things at that moment, and one of them is that this week will be the longest of my life.


	4. Interviews and Integrity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the interviews with the one and only Caesar Flickerman, Scorpius reveals something that Albus wasn’t prepared for. Albus evaluates tributes and awes the gamekeepers at his Private Session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the rest, but I hope you don’t mind. The next chapter may be published a bit late, as I’m overwhelmed with online school at the moment, but thank you all for being patient and for all the kudos!

Cinna finishes buttoning up the back of my gold tuxedo as Flavius pins my Mockingjay on the pocket of the jacket. Octavia eagerly dries my gold painted fingernails and Venia wraps up the finishing touches of a golden, sparkly, Roman numeral twelve on the back of my neck.

“When do I push the bracelet?” I ask, staring at the golden bracelets wrapped around my left and right wrists.

“Wait until the end,” Cinna calmly orders, and I nod, letting out a shaky sigh. “It’s going to be alright, Albus. We all will be there for you, watching.”

“Cinna?” I ask as I feel Octavia let go of my hand with satisfaction and Venia’s thick paintbrush come off my neck.   
“Yes?”

“Do you think my family is proud of me?” I gulp, biting my glossed lip. 

“Oh, Albus,” Cinna spins me around to face him and places his hand upon my shoulders. “I think they are extremely proud. But I also think they are scared. I am too. Because we all love and support you and don’t want you gone. But let me tell you this, you are extremely brave for doing what you did for your sister. Never forget that.”

Without thinking, I pull Cinna close to me and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. My breath is shaky. “Thank you.”

We dislocate and Cinna smiles at me. “Now go show them who Albus Potter is, will you?”

“Now let’s all welcome, the bold, the brave, The Boy on Fire!” 

I walk out onto the blinding stage and force my mouth to curl into a proud grin. I am greeted with a full audience—there had to be thousands of different faces in the crowd. I spot Cinna, eyeing me with pride and comfort. I smile wider.

“Come, come!” Caesar Flickerman motioned me to sit down. “Sit down!”

Still smiling, I sit down. The chair immediately sinks down and it’s almost a feeling of relief. 

“So, Albus Potter, the legendary volunteer from District Twelve!” Caesar looked at me, and grinned enthusiastically. “So, can you tell us, Albus, what inspired you to risk our life for this—this girl?”

“Well, she was—she was my sister,” I explain, finding myself fiddling with the edge of my tux. “And I love her to death. Literally, I mean.”

The last part sparks particular interest, and Caesar along with the crowd laugh. I laugh along with them, but clearly uncomfortably.

“And what was the last thing you told her, your sister?” Flickerman looks me into the eyes—the blue hair seems almost intimidating.

I look out into the crowd then back at him.“I told her that I would try and win. For her.”

Caesar frowns a faux frown of pity as the audience lets out a collective sigh of solemness. “I bet you did. And try you will.”

I nod, looking back into the crowd as a distraction. I look at Cinna, but he shakes his head.

“Now, that was a performance you did back at the Opening Ceremony,” mentions Flickerman, and I snap my gaze back to him. “The fire! The brightness! I believe we all have been thinking about District Twelve all night long.”

As the people mutter agreements, I smile. 

“Actually, I am wearing the flames today. Would you like to see?”

Caesar’s expression turns extremely pleasurable. “Of course, wouldn’t we like to see, Panem?”

The roars of the crowd confirms this, and I stand up, pressing the button on my tuxedo. It bursts into a fiery inferno of orange and red flames, and the crowd goes wild. I decide to spin once, and everyone cheers. Once I was up there long enough, I turn the flames off, look at Cinna’s happy expression, and sit down.

“How wonderful! That was just brilliant, wasn’t it?” Flickerman applauded, along with everyone else, and took my hand.

“Albus Potter, everyone, from District Twelve!” 

“You did so good, Albus!” Effie softly hugs me and I smile at her, watching as Scorpius enters the stage. I hear the familiar cries of the crowd as he waves, his perfect smile believable as always.

Haymitch nods at me, for once without a bottle of champagne in his hand. I smile curtly at him back and I focus my attention on the screen.

Scorpius is far more comfortable on television and woh social interaction than I am. He presents himself properly, laughing from the heart, and popping in satisfying jokes that pleases the crowd. His legs are crossed and he moves his hands when he talks. Caesar seems more at ease than he was with me.

“Now, I know we are all wondering,” Caesar starts, and Scorpius is all ears, looking at him intently. “Is there a special girl at home? Someone you want to win this for?”

Scorpius’s expression sinks for the first time in public. He quickly recovers it by chuckling and replying with a simple, “Oh, well, no.”

“Oh, c’mon, with a face like that?” Caesar chuckles and looks at him expectantly. “Not even someone you can most definitely get at home if you win these games?”

Scorpius adjusts his position and uncrosses his legs. “Well...there is one person. And I’ve liked them for longer than I can remember. But I can’t exactly be with them, even if I won.”

Caesar Flickerman, along with me, raises an eyebrow. I look at Haymitch and Effie, and both shrug.

“And why is that?” Caesar asks and looks at Scorpius with a wondrous expression. 

“Because…” Scorpius pauses. “Because he came here with me.” 

My stomach twists, my face turns red. I don’t know if it’s from anger or embarrassment or flatterment, but either way, I find myself gaping. I expect the audience to have a big reaction, but they remain completely silent.

“Oh. I’m very sorry,” Caesar’s smile flickers away, but only for a second. He grins, takes Scorpius’s hand, and pronounces, “Scorpius Malfoy, District Twelve, everyone!”

I was at the exit before Scorpius was. As soon as he stepped out, I grab his arm and pin him against the wall. “What the hell was that? What were you fucking thinking?” 

Scorpius’s already pale face drains in color as I grab his throat. 

“Hey!” Haymitch yells, and I feel him grab my waist and pull me off of him. I scream incoherent insults as he blocks my mouth with his hand and muffles me. “Calm down, Albus.”

He lets go of me and I breath hard, staring down Scorpius, who is still plastered to the wall. “He made me look weak.”

“He made you look desirable,” Haymitch snaps back. “Which in your case, can’t hurt, kid.”

Cinna walks up next to me, having gone out from the crowd. “He’s right, Albus.”

“Now look, I can sell the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve,” Haymitch says.

Rage fills me. “We are not star-crossed lovers.” 

Haymitch rolls his eyes immensely at me then puts a firm hand on my shoulder. “It’s a television show. And being in love with that boy could get you sponsors, which may save your goddamn life.” 

I sigh deeply and Haymitch turns to Scorpius. “I-Okay, let’s get out of here. Maybe I can deliver you both back in one piece.” 

I follow Haymitch and refuse to meet Scorpius’s eyes. I feel Cinna wrap an arm around me and whisper, “You’re alright, Albus. Your fine.” 

  
I stare at the ceiling blankly, my hands resting on top of the covers. I turn my head towards the forest scenery at the side of the bed. Sighing, I get up, walking out in the dark to the windowsill in the living room.

Sitting there, I see Scorpius. His knees are brought up to his chest and his arms are wrapped around them, his gaze focusing on the city lights twinkling in the distance. His blonde hair is sprawled across the wall, and in the moonlight, he looks almost angelic. 

“Hey. Can’t sleep?” I say, wanting to not scare him. However, he jumps, untangling his folded arms and looking at me.

“Oh. Hi. Yeah,” he replies and scoots slightly away from his spot, telling me I can sit there without being tackled. 

I make my way over to the window, sitting down next to him. “I’m sorry I went after you.”

Scorpius looks at me, concern in his eyes. “You know I meant that as a compliment?”

I smile. “I know.”

I hear the people of Panem cheering below, the roars of their celebrations of the Hunger Games echoing throughout the penthouse. “God. Listen to them.”

“I know. Just...I don’t want them to change me,” Scorpius looks at me, sighing. 

“How...how would they change you?” I ask carefully, not wanting to push too far.

“I don’t know. Turn me into something I’m not. I just don’t want to be another piece in their game, you know?” he explains.  
I think for a moment. “You mean you won’t kill anyone?”

“No,” he says, then looks back at me, shaking his head. “I mean, yeah, I’m sure I would, just like anybody else when the time came but I just keep thinking that I wish I could find a way to show them that they don’t own me. If I’m gonna die, I wanna still be me. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, looking at a sprinkling firework erupting I’m the sky. “I just can’t afford to think like   
that. I have my sister. My brother.”

Scorpius looks at me with pitiful eyes and nods.   
“Yeah, I know.”

There is a moment of silence as we both gaze off into the boundless skyline. The stars twinkle as people cry and shout, as fireworks boom and lights flicker. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Scorpius says, getting up. 

“See you tomorrow,” I smile, watching as he walks away, grabbing a water glass before he exits completely. I mean to stop up also, but I find my head resting against the cold glass and slowly but surely, I drift asleep.

“Now, tributes, you have this whole room to train and practice your skills. There will be no hurting or killing of other tributes in training, if there is, you will be immediately executed,” the instructor explains, her hands moving as she talks to us. 

Once she excuses us, I immediately go to the bow and arrows, but then remember Haymitch told Scorpius and I to not show our skills. I spot Scorpius in line for the rope climbing exercise. 

I almost confuse him with the tribute from District One, who also has blonde hair but is taller, built more broadly. The tribute eyes me and scoffs, going back to the conversation with his female counterpart.

“Glimmer,” someone says from behind me. I turn around, and it’s a dark skinned girl with large curly hair and soft brown eyes. She looks young, possibly twelve. “The girl from One. And the boy is Marvel.” 

Before I can reply, she hurries off, disappearing behind a pillar. I raise an eyebrow, but shake it off, heading over to a factoried forest, hoping to be able to practice knot-tying.

Just as I hook the string around a plastic branch, I see a blur of white blonde hair fall and hit the ground at the climbing area. I grimace as I watch a group of tributes laugh at Scorpius, who was now getting up and rubbing his elbow.

“Gonna have to do better than that, loverboy,” teases the girl from One, Glimmer, as she shoves him out of the way and scales the ropes. 

I see Scorpius walk towards me with an embarrassed expression, and I act like I didn’t see what happened.

“The ones from One and Two are brutal,” says Scorpius, kneeling down next to me. “Haymitch told me they’re trained from a young age in a special academy, then they volunteer. He said they win almost every year.”

“They volunteer to die?” I ask, looking back at them. Glimmer rings a bell at the top of the rope then jumps down, lands on two feet, and grins triumphantly. 

“I guess so,” shrugs Scorpius, looking away. He focuses his attention on the knot I'm tying. “Is that a Gordian’s Knot? Can I try?”

“Be my guest,” I pull the string and it untangles, and I hand it to him. I watch patiently as he ties the knot, surprisingly, nearly flawless. 

“That’s pretty good,” I praise, and he grins at me, clearly proud of his accomplishment. We both work on different knots and how to untie them, then I walk away to go practice throwing knives. I see a girl with silver and blue hair hurl a shiny grey knife straight into the heart of a training dummy. I glance at the back of her training uniform—she’s from District Two.

She sees I am looking at her, and before I can turn my head away and act as if nothing happens, she walks over to me and places a hand on her hip. “Delphi Riddle, and you must be the infamous Albus Potter, huh?”

I nod, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow in skepticism. “Yeah. Your knife throwing is good. Can I have a turn?”

Delphi smirks, handing me the knives, flips her hair over her shoulder, and walks away. I eye her suspiciously as she skips her way over to her District Two counterpart, who’s name I believe is Cato, and starts to chat away, occasionally looking back at me and grinning madly.

Day two of training was just as eventful, but this time Scorpius found something he’s good at—a few things, actually.

I watch as he brushes the brown paint over his left arm as I set flame to a bundle of dried grass using flint and steel. I slowly blow out the fire as I get mesmerized by the patterns splashed onto his arm.

I walk over to him, and he looks up, smiling happily. “What are you doing?

“Oh, look,” he says, walking up to a faux tree and placing his arm upon the bark of the tree. I gasp as I only make out the outline of his fingers—the rest matches the oak wood exactly. 

“That’s...incredible,” I look up at him and we meet eyes. “I heard you when you said you were good at painting but this...this isn’t just good at painting, Scorpius.”

“Don’t flatter me,” Scorpius says, but below his pale skin his cheeks flushed pink. “It’s really not that big of a deal compared to what you can do. You are going to shoot at the Private Sessions tonight, right?”

“Yeah, definitely. But only if you paint a mural for them or something,” I quickly glanced over at the archery section, where a boy from Three was attempting to aim arrows at faux foes running at him. I watch as the shimmering hologram gets too close and he panics—the hologram shattering to pieces just before it reaches him. He hastily puts the bow and arrows away and walks, flushed, towards the climbing wall.

“I will,” I nod, sighing and looking back at Scorpius. “I’m just hoping my nerves don’t go mad.”

Scorpius smiles at me, and picks up his paintbrush again. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, Albus.”

My foot taps anxiously onto the cement floor as I watch the small girl from District Eleven walk out of her Private Session. Her hands look as if they have been burned, but she seems content. She looks at me, grins, and leaves the room entirely.

“Albus Potter, District Twelve,” announces an automated voice over the loudspeaker, and I jump ever so slightly. I look at Scorpius next to me and he shoots me a reassuring smile. 

Getting up hesitantly, I crack my knuckles, sigh heavily, and make my way into the room. Expecting all heads to turn on me, I tense—but what I quickly realize is that nobody is paying attention to me.

Above in the loft-like area, gamekeepers are laughing and cheering and talking about what is to come. I see two clank their glasses together in celebration—but it’s almost as if I’m invisible.

“Excuse me?” I say, and the room falls silent. All the gamekeepers face me. “Albus Potter. District Twelve.”

I look at the Head Gamekeeper—Seneca Crane—and he nods, tilting his wine glass ever so slightly to me. “Go on.”

I nod, and face the weaponry in front of me. I requested a bow and some arrows, and as expected, I spy a long, pitch black bow and a set of golden arrows presented in front of me. Smiling nervously, I trace the Capitol Logo engraved on the bow and pick it up, accompanying it with some shining arrows.

Now, I look toward the practice dummies in front of me, and shakily, I nock an arrow and pull the string back with a sharp breath. My fingers shake as I aim for the heart of the mannequin—and I release it. 

I know I am screwed once the arrow wavers in the air to the left. It lands just to the side of the target, and lower than intended. I look back to see my audience’s unamused faces, and I even hear a mocking scoff. And—just like that—they erupt into conversation.

I can try again. Yeah. I nock another arrow. This time, my hands are steady, and my breath is mostly relaxed. I make sure to focus more intensively this time—and—thud. It lands perfectly in the middle of the circle, and I grin triumphantly, spinning around.

What I see angers me. Nobody seems to be looking, nobody at all, and I can feel the bubbling madness arise in my chest. I search my eyes for something to do—something impressive, that will make them remember me—Albus Potter.

Then I spot it. The delicious looking roasted boar sitting on the table, it’s breaded snout holding onto a crisp, green, apple. I smirk as I make sure my shooting path is clear—that I won’t accidentally pierce through the flesh of a gamekeeper (although I would be glad to). 

I draw another arrow and pluck back the bow string, squinting slightly and focusing all my will power on the green apple. Letting a breath of air slip silently out of my mouth, I let go of the string. The golden blur of the arrow zips quietly through the air, and hits the apple square in the middle—carrying the fruit through the air and deciding its final destination to be the wall. 

I watch as all eyes go to the arrow-impaled apple, widen, then focus on me, awe-struck. Making direct eye contact with Seneca Crane, I bow. “Thanks for your consideration.”


End file.
